


If Jason Was Written in a Gothic Novel

by Dark_and_night



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: Other, but I wrote it anyway, if friday the 13th was a gothic novel, is this good? probably not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_and_night/pseuds/Dark_and_night
Summary: Look at the title lol
Relationships: Jason Voorhees/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	If Jason Was Written in a Gothic Novel

For the longest time, people had come to the conclusion that the Voorhees child didn’t know much of anything. Well, that was the most polite way to put it, and most people didn’t care too terribly much if they were being polite when it came to speaking about Jason Voorhees. 

What most people don’t understand, however, is that if you can comprehend human cruelty, then you understand more about the world than most. When one understands cruelty, they understand that all the good in the words won’t come to much if those in power will stop it from getting anywhere. All the science in the world won’t come to much if the patents are bought and swept under the rug. Finding the answer to social issues won’t mean anything if those answers are not embraced. 

Of course, Jason knew these truths. He knew them, but on a smaller scale. Being tucked away at recess won’t prevent bullying if the bullies know where you’re held. And having mom at summer camp doesn’t mean you’re safe when she’s busy.

Dying, Jason found, was only scary while it was happening. In the moment it felt like an eternity, but the day after, the day after, and the day after that, the memory of dying seemed much quicker. But, he was done dying, and now he was dead, and there was nothing that could be done about that. The fascinating part was, he wasn’t dead in the way he knew. He wasn’t dead in the way people explained death. He wasn’t even dead in the way most ghost stories explained death. 

Moving and feeling, that was what his death was made of. Moving and running and killing. Killing, that was what his death was made of. Killing for mother. Killing for the sake of killing. Killing because he forgot what else there was to do besides kill and be killed and sleep and kill again. 

Taking other people’s lives proved to be the one thing that Jason was good at. And taking lives came with its own list of things that needed doing, so in the end it turned out Jason was good at many things. He was good at stalking, hunting, improvising, he was even good at hiding when that came to be necessary. Perhaps his need to kill came from the fact that it was the only thing he ever excelled at.

Loneliness came had in hand with his newfound talent. Or perhaps it came with his death. Or perhaps, loneliness had lived with him all his life, and it had simply followed him in heath, The two of them side by side, striding forward together, forever. His one consistent companion. 

The people Jason killed became companions, in their own ways. Brief, loud, horrible companions that Jason would get to know for the span of a few hours before he silenced their beating hearts forever. It was a brief relationship, and a relationship Jason got little out of.

He would sometimes listen to what it was that they would say to each other. He often didn’t understand what it was they were saying to each other, and when he did, he never liked what it was they were saying. His dislike made killing them not just a task that he excelled in but one that he thoroughly enjoyed. It almost seemed that the exact same group of people came to his lake each time. A loud band of young people, over sexed over confident and over cocky, coming to party on his grave.

That was, until you. What made you different? Jason couldn’t say. Perhaps it was because you came in the fall, and you came alone. Something that looked like a recorder in your hand, talking into it as you explored, quiet and unassuming. Jason liked the fast that you were quiet. He couldn’t hear the things you were mumbling into your device, but your face looked happy.

One time, a long time ago, one of the people who had escaped his killings had said this to her companion: “Nobody is special until they are made special. Either they have to make themselves special, or they have to be special to someone else. That is what they mean when they say everyone is special.”

Jason never understood what that meant. Until he saw you. And he realized that had been completely true. What was special about you? Nothing, until Jason decided that you were. Whether or not his interpretation was accurate to the girl’s meaning is up to anyone to decide. That is the thing about words, they are all too interpretable. 

You were his special person. And he would be yours. As it turned out, he was your special person as well, seeing as you had come to his grave to find the Ghost of Camp Crystal Lake. What a lovely start to a lovely ghost story.


End file.
